A Place for Fear
by Kate-No Stranger to Sarcasm
Summary: Some years before RotG, Pitch still struggles with controlling the newly corrupted Nightmaresand. Feeling frustrated by his condition, the bogeyman goes to visit one of his few remaining believers, one he has neither haunted nor ever seen before, to learn what makes her believe. Please read&review.


**A Place for Fear**

The black sand swirled above the pale hand, following the movements of the fingers. It tried to get into a new, defined shape, a horse's head emerging briefly, but then it collapsed again and the sand dispersed. Pitch growled, clenching his hand into a fist; he would need much more practice before he was ready. Once his mere presence had instilled nightmares, but now with the Sandman's dreamsand things had changed; these days he required different means. Only recently Pitch had figured out how to corrupt the Guardian's tool of trade, which at first had happened by accident, when he'd been shooing away a golden tendril that had come far too close for his comfort. In his annoyance and anger the bogeyman had touched it, turning the sand black for a brief time, only a few seconds. Intrigued, Pitch had then touched the image of a dog floating above a young boy's head, and had fed some of his energy into it. To his immense delight, the dog had turned into a black wolf, just about to tear the boy's arm off, when the sand became gold once more. That had been the beginning, and ever since Pitch taught himself how to control it, make it last. Tired he leaned back against the cool stone, his gaze wandering through his lair, doing his best to ignore the countless lights on the hollow globe not too far from him. The light reaching these halls from outside was dim this hour of day, creating countless shadows within the cavern, which laid in silence as per norm. How he'd grown sick of it.

Pitch was sick of hiding for centuries, being banished into the background, under the beds and into wardrobes. And how he hated to be so weak. Wearily he ran a hand over his face, rubbing his temples; he needed some fresh air, something to get his mind off these things. Pulling himself together, Pitch got on his feet, and walked straight into a nearby shadow in one of the hallways, reappearing in a suburb environment in the middle of the night. He hadn't picked this place by accident.

Despite the Guardians' best efforts, not all belief in him had faded from this world; some children still knew he existed, feared him, but they were few and their belief tended to be weak, as if it was only an unconscious awareness. Tonight Pitch wanted to pay a visit to one of his believers, one who had managed to make him curious. Never before had he visited the child, and she hadn't been part of his experiments with his new nightmares, so why did she believe? The most puzzling thing was that it didn't seem to be because of fear; unusual to say the least.

Pitch could have just appeared in her room, but he felt like taking a walk, to wander down a street openly as he'd done centuries ago, even if there was no one around tonight. It was still quiet, almost like back in his lair, yet here he had the wind, blowing softly this spring evening. Strange, how such a little thing could be so comforting, so exhilarant. Trees lined the street, the tops moving gently in the wind, while a few street lights illuminated the walkway on which he trod, dimming ever so slightly whenever he passed one. Pitch let one of his hands brush lightly over the smooth leaves of a hedge, enjoying the soft texture beneath his fingertips.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw a small, turquoise light scampering through the air, like a glowing hummingbird. Tooth fairies. It was far too early to let the Guardians know of his activities, and his appearance here would certainly have them investigate. No, Pitch couldn't afford that right now, he needed more time, perhaps years.

Quickly he stepped back into the deepest shadows, provided by a large arrangement of shrubberies and a tree to his right. Pitch watched the little fairy flying through the closed window of a house, and back out a few seconds later, a tooth in her tiny hands. Without noticing his presence, she flew just past him, a content smile on her pale, bird-like face. Pitch waited a few seconds, until she was gone, before he left his hiding place again. How long until he could stop shying away from every light, no matter how small? It was disgraceful.

The good mood that had been rising up ever since he'd left his lair had received quite a beating by this brief encounter, but Pitch went on. Maybe meeting this believer of his would cheer him up somewhat, at the very least distract him for some time. It took another ten minutes to reach the one-family house he'd been looking for. The bricks were red, and by the looks of it, someone had recently removed a bit of ivy from it the other day, while simple white curtains impaired a look into the building, as he walked over the lawn. Pitch walked past the white entrance door, to a dark shadow nearby, thrown by a well-trimmed shrub.

He let himself reemerge on the first floor, in a child's bedroom, but not under the bed, instead in a dark corner across from it. The walls were painted in a soft yellow, warm and comfortable to the eyes, fitting to the sand-colored carpet. The furniture was wooden, the natural material in a light brown, the shelves dominating the wall to his left stuffed with books, the majority fantasy and science fiction, while the upper ones stored stuffed animals, cats of prey mostly. A particular big black panther gazed watchfully into the room with bright blue eyes. There were only a few toys on the floor, all Lego Technic, not what he expected to find in a girl's room. Close to the shelves stood a chair with cloths on the seat, every piece black, differing only in shade, depending on their individual age.

Finally his eyes stopped at the bed. The bedclothes were red and beige, continuing the warm theme of the room, and between the blanket and pillow, Pitch saw light brown hair. With soundless steps he crossed the small room. He looked down at the girl, sleeping peacefully, though no dreamsand was circling over her head just yet. It was still too early for the Sandman to appear; despite popular believe most dreams only occur in the last hours of sleep, and not evenly distributed throughout the night.

For a while Pitch thought about what he should do next, considering to wake her up. The decision was taken from him, when the girl stirred and turned around, apparently noticing in her sleep that she was no longer alone. Sleepily her eyes opened slightly, constantly blinking as she adjusted them to the twilight of her room. Confusion showed in her expression as she spotted the tall, black dressed man in her room, looking down at her with silver eyes, which would shimmer golden in the right angle as he moved his head a little. Suddenly the girl was wide awake, and pressed herself against the wall, as far away from him as she could. Thankfully she didn't scream and alert her parents, or this would have been a rather short visit. Her olive colored eyes regarded him warily, with a touch of fear Pitch very much enjoyed; he felt it like warmth, seeping through his skin, running through his limbs.

In a rather good mood now, Pitch sat down on her bed, curiously waiting for what she would do next, while he studied her, especially her fears. Most were fairly common and uninteresting, like the fear of death. Everyone had it, some more prominent than others, but it was a universal instinct that had allowed mankind to survive. He was just wondering why she had such a strong fear of water, when she spoke. "Who're you?"

Pitch was not surprised that she didn't recognize him; there weren't exactly holiday postcards with his picture on them, unlike the Cossack and the rabbit, and so everyone imagined him differently, usually vaguely or as something they feared. For now he simply enjoyed the fact that she could see him at all.

"I am the bogeyman." He told her calmly, a small, very sinister smile spreading over his face.

Her eyes widened, but the fear seemed to leave them; odd, but his intrigue was stronger than the anger and disappointment he felt at this. "I knew you were real." She whispered. "You had to be." Were her eyes just getting a little watery?

"And why is that, little one?" Pitch asked her not unfriendly. "You believe in me, and yet I can sense no real fear towards me. I might actually feel a bit insulted." There was a slight edge to his last sentence.

She blinked a bit confused. "Because of the stories I've read."

"What stories would that be?" There were so many stories about the bogeyman and similar spirits that it was difficult to keep track of them, or to say what particular version she was referring to.

"They say you punish children, who…well, misbehave, who've done wrong." Cautiously the girl regarded him, as if she was waiting, hoping for affirmation.

So far Pitch hadn't targeted a specific group of children, and he certainly didn't keep a naughty-list like North, though he had heard these stories about him. Then again children who misbehaved tend to feel guild, which made for delightful nightmares, so yes, maybe he visited them more often than others. "In some countries they say I eat the children I take into the darkness." He smirked when he saw her shiver; it had been a good idea to come here.

"Do you?" There was concern lingering in her voice, her fingers digging into her blanket.

Pitch didn't reply at first, only laughed quiet and menacingly. "Yes, but only after I fattened them up in my gingerbread house." He joked, after seeing the horror in her eyes, from his supposedly confirming laugh. In truth spirits like him didn't need to eat, and he survived on the fear and belief of people. Of course actual belief was far better than plain fear, as the latter was like water to him; necessary and refreshing, but only belief truly had this nourishing factor that strengthened him. Pitch could consume food if he felt like it, though he rarely did. For a moment she was bemused, but then to his surprise giggled a little shyly. Apparently she got the reference to Hänsel and Gretel. "But back to my original question: why do you believe in me?"

For a while the girl just looked at him, uncertain how to answer his question. "I guess…I guess because I want to…because I've hoped you exist." She admitted.

This was not the answer Pitch had been expecting. "Why?" He asked, still irritated. "I bring fear, I bring nightmares; I made people despair with my mere presence." Once, he silently told himself.

"But those who deserve it." She argued, her voice having grown a bit stronger and more confident by now.

It was beginning to dawn on him. "And you know someone, who deserves my attention." She nodded. "Who?" It was more out of curiosity than concern or sympathy for the girl.

"Other children at my school." She started to explain, speaking quicker now. "They hate me because I'm different; I'm not ashamed to have views that differ from theirs, and I have interests they think are weird for girls. They single me out…I hadn't had a friend in years." She paused to swallow hard. "My classmates taunt me and some tried to beat me up…"

He frowned. "Tried?"

A weak smile played on her lips. "They didn't count on me fighting back, but that only made me seem…stranger."

"And then there is your brother."

This made her flinch. "How do you…"

"I know everyone's fear, and yours of your brother is very prominent." Pitch explained.

The girl hugged her leg, resting her face against her knees, but her eyes were fixed on the wall behind him. "He's older than me." She began, her voice trembling. "He gives me orders, makes me do his jobs in the household…but when I make a mistake, when I say anything that upsets him." By now she was trembling, a few tears streaming down her reddened face. "Next time we're alone he comes and beats me up." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "He likes to wake me up by storming into my room and kicking, or punching me in the guts. You know how he taught me to dive?"

Pitch shook his head, though he had a pretty good idea. "No."

"He took my head and dunked it under the water." She told him, choking up. "I thought I was going to drown."

It certainly explained her fear of water, and her fear of making mistakes, which was unusually strong; this girl would drive herself crazy with a need for perfection. "You think I'd torment him for that." The bogeyman concluded after giving her some time to calm herself down a little bit.

Once more she nodded, sniffing. "No one believes me. My parents don't think my brother would ever do something like that. They think my bruises come from sport or my classmates." Embitter, she bit her lower lip. "And the only thing done about them are talks; it just goes on, and nothing ever changes." Something demanding showed in her eyes. "I thought if nobody else does anything about it, maybe the bogeyman would haunt them at night, punish them for what they do to me." New tears ran down her face but this time she kept eye contact with him. "I just had to believe there was someone, helping me that someone held them responsible. I needed to believe that."

Pitch had no idea how to respond. In all his years he'd never come across someone, who wanted to believe in him like this girl. Perhaps there had been others, but when he'd been at the height of his power, why pay attention to a lone believer, when there were thousands of others. Especially since he didn't care, and never had. He had come here tonight to learn why she believed and then to make her fear him, like it should be, now however he had his doubts. Something deep in the back of his mind told him to leave this girl be. After all she did fear. Not him maybe, but plenty of other things, perhaps even for the rest of her life. Besides; the most important thing was that she believed, which she did. Ultimately that was more crucial, even if his powers would be less effective on her.

Slowly, Pitch rose from the bed, ready to leave again. "Will you give me nightmares as well?" She asked worried, a twinge of fear lingering in her still reddened eyes.

"No." Pitch told her, actually mustering a kind smile, something he hadn't done in centuries. "So young, so much angst and dread; I do not need to add to it, as long as you believe." Then his expression turned rather devious, almost sadistic. "Besides, I think I've found something else that will keep me occupied tonight. Go back to sleep, little one." With that Pitch Black stepped back into the shadows, vanishing from her view. It was time for more experiments with corrupted dreamsand.

...

When the girl woke up the following morning, she wasn't sure if the events of last night had only been a dream. She put on her dark-green bathrobe and went downstairs into the kitchen. Her mother was making dough for this weekend's cake, while her brother was already eating breakfast. He looked like he'd barely slept at all, dark rings around his eyes, a hand supporting his head, as if it was in danger of slamming unto the table, while the hand holding a slice of bread trembled slightly; he was a wreck. The girl sensed a feeling of satisfaction rising in her chest, it was downright gleeful, but she suppressed any exterior sign of it, or that she even noticed his condition, as she sat down at the table.

* * *

A few days had passed, when the girl once again awoke in the middle of the night to find the bogeyman sitting on the edge of her bed. "Sweet dreams?" He asked with his velvet voice, soft and mesmerizing, yet underlined with something dark and threatening that made her shiver.

"You're back." She said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I thought maybe it had just been a dream."

"I'm insulted." His disappointment was only half-played. "After all I've done for you. Maybe one of my nightmares should pay you a visit as well."

"You…you gave them nightmares?" The girl was looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

A rather toothy smirk spread over his face. "They make excellent subjects; I go to them almost every night now…" Pitch was interrupted when the girl launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest. Utterly baffled he had his arms raised looking down at her, as she sobbed _thank you, thank you_, against his black cloak. His first thought was to push her off him; how dare she hug the Nightmare King, the embodiment of fear. By all rights she should tremble before him...then again he'd just told her that he'd done her a favor. And then his instinct about shoving her away was all but forgotten, when he grasped something else.

She was hugging him. In centuries no one but a handful of people had been able to see him, and whenever Pitch had tried to instill fear and believe, they had passed right through him, as if he was only a ghost. But not her. He actually felt her thin arms around his slender body, hers leaning against him. Pitch wasn't someone for sentimentalities, but after centuries of loneliness some part of him was more than willing to welcome this one. Very slowly, as if he needed to remember how to do it, he lowered his arms, placing on hand on her shoulder the other on her head, stroking once over her hair. Something about this felt familiar, as if he'd done this before, a long, long time ago.

"You know this won't stop it." Pitch told her after a while; she might face less torment in the future, but it wouldn't be gone completely.

"No." She agreed, swallowing deeply to clear her voice, head still against his body. "But it is more than anyone else has ever done. Thank you, bogeyman."

"Pitch." He corrected her. "It's Pitch Black."

* * *

Years went by, and Pitch was almost ready to finally face the Guardians; perhaps by next spring. His grand return after all this time, his revenge for shoving him under the beds, for almost wiping him from existence, and a grim smile crossed his face. They deserved all what was coming to them. Right now however he was observing someone he'd known a few years back. The girl who'd believed in him was a young adult now. She was standing at a bus stop, dressed in black, talking with two other young women her age, all tired from a long day but happy, laughing together every now and then.

These days she was much happier than she'd been those years back, and yet her fears and sadness were there, hidden behind a well maintained façade. Some things the human mind could not shake off, no matter how hard one tried, only learn to cope with. But she was doing better, living on her own in another city, the contact to her brother kept to a minimum. He hadn't harmed her in years, but she'd never forgiven him. Whenever they met, they got along well enough, though it was boiling beneath her skin. To this day she was afraid to make a single mistake, shied away from people, and found it hard to trust or even open up to someone. She was a lone wolf, who preferred solitude when she didn't need to work, and in part she blamed her older sibling.

The bus arrived and she said goodbye to her colleges. Pitch watched her take a seat, as the bus got moving again, a tired but honest smile on her lips. With so few believers he remembered every single one of them, and sometimes he would go back and check on them. A part of him was glad to see her doing well, which was rather baffling to the bogeyman, considering he ought to be nothing but a faint memory to her. He waited until the bus disappeared in traffic, before he merged with the shadows; more important things required his attention and he'd satisfied his curiosity. Once Pitch had helped her to achieve some justice; now it was time he got his.


End file.
